


Death is Just a Phase

by RogueZero



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Slash, Timelord, timelord!Ianto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:22:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueZero/pseuds/RogueZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto learns something about himself. Then comes to terms with it. </p>
<p>Timelord!Ianto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here's a Thing

Broken. Bits everywhere. Nothing to be done, really… just move along, nothing to see here. Nowwhatdoido. The words out in a rush. Falling from his brain, his mouth, his soul. Sighing crying thinking laughing hysterically. Slow progression into madness. Where to go? What to do? All a lie. Everything’s a lie. It won’t be ok. It’ll never be ok again. Ianto Jones knows what it’s like to lose everything. He does so on a near regular basis. It was about time, he should have expected this. This is why he doesn’t really ever allow himself any happiness. It all just gets taken away in the end. Ianto used to believe in a God. Sometimes he still does… but this one is a vengeful god. This is a God who sees the good in people and turns it around and twists it into something awful and terrible and throws it back at them threefold. 

Or maybe that’s just Jack. 

Jack. He rolls the name around on his tongue. Just as he once rolled the man around on his tongue. What a metaphor. Jack symbolizes everything that could’ve been would’ve been should’ve been. Always going, yet always coming. A despairing snicker at the innuendo. Jack would’ve liked that. 

Jackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjackjack.

The name repeats in his head till it becomes nonsense. Till everything is nonsense, and no one knows anything anymore. Or maybe that’s just Ianto. But he knows everything so it’s ok. He knows everything except what to do with himself. 

He’s been dead. He knows he’s been dead. He was dead. Why’s he not dead? This doesn’t fit into Ianto’s world. In Ianto’s world when people die they stay dead. 

Except Jack. Jack’s always the exception to the rule. And now, apparently Ianto was too. He was cold. Very cold. Opening his eyes, he realized why… he was in a cryochamber. Though disturbing, this did prove to him his earlier deadness. He felt his pulse… strong. Stronger than usual, actually.

Not a zombie. In a cryochamber. …..Oh shite. Ianto was rather claustrophobic. 

shiteshiteshiteshiteshite shiteshiteshiteshite!  
With each repetition he bangs on the wallsrooffloor. Whatever they all are. (coffin) Walls all boxed around him. He screams his throat ragged. He chokes on his own breath. None of it works. He’s in a cryochamber. Ianto knows that means he’s dead. So why isn’t he dead? Keep this up and he will be again. Oh now there’s a thought. 

Calm, Jones. Calm. That’s what you need… calm. Slow the heartbeat down. Wow. Wait. There’s a problem here. Count the heartbeats. One. Two. … No now that’s not right. Count them again; it’s just the distraction from the closeness of the walls. 

One… two. 

Shite. He puts his right hand on his chest. It takes some doing, being in such a closed space… but he doesn’t think about that. Then he puts his left hand on the other side of his chest. A heartbeat beneath both. Shite. Just… shite. He knows what this means. And wouldn’t ya know it too. He wonders if he looks the same… he can’t reach his face. 

Now that he’s calming down a bit… one thing Torchwood has taught him, it’s how to slow his heartbeat(s) down in a near meditation, he can think a bit more. Ianto knows these cryochambers. They’re Torchwood. His Torchwood, maybe. He slides a hand up the ‘roof’ over his head. The slightly steamy clear top (coffin lid) and moves it over just that way… just to the right. right there. Yep. There it is. A catch. This is why they have an external lock, because if one knows how, one can get out. That’s assuming that one would ever be in…. 

He’s out now. And damn, now he realizes just how cold he was… he shivers on the floor for a while. He does know this floor though. It’s the Torchwood HUB. But… yes. Yes he can see debris all around. Seems that the blast didn’t completely destroy it…. And seems its still in use, he thinks as he glances disdainfully at his cryochamber (coffin).

Ianto pulls himself to his feet, shaky as he is, and stumbles through the well-known and well-loved passageways back to the main floor. Tears assault his eyes as he reaches the top, and sees the dark starry sky above. He breaks down … all of a sudden. Sobs wrack his still healing (regenerating) frame and he collapses to his knees. Falling falling falling falling apart at the seams. He doesn’t realize (though he will soon enough) that this is the suit he died in. And when he does realize it, the tears come hotter and harder.   
His brain doesn’t really read the innuendo in that one yet either… but it would if Jack were around. 

Jack. It’s a word again. He wonders where Jack is. He composes himself slowly and heads to his Archives. One of the few places he felt safe. He checks his Archives… and they’re in disarray. He takes a step forward, but before his foot can even hit the ground, he’s pirouetted oh the ball of his grounded foot, and is off like a shot. If the Archives are ok, then the bunker must be too. It has to be. 

He races through hallways and passageways, no need to check where he’s going… he could do this in his sleep. Has in fact. And now his new body… so much energy. Explains a lot…   
Running  
Running  
Running. 

….He wonders idly if this is a trend. 

Then he’s in the remains of Jack’s office…. Tears threaten again, and he steels himself against them, nearly throwing himself down the stairs into the bunker. And bunker is right. It has survived better then nearly everywhere else in the ruined Hub. (his ruined home) No Jack though. Still no Jack. Nothing looks like it’s moved since the blast. Many things moved in the blast. Ianto shudders and makes his way into the bathroom. The tiny bathroom that he spent so much time in. somehow the lights are still working. Must be the same tech that allows the water to work with no piping. 

He looks into the mirror. Rather, he faces in the general direction of the mirror… he sees a few shards on the ground, but it looks like the majority should still be up there, judging by the amount of glass that has fallen. 

Eyes rise to meet shattered eyes. Though whether it’s just the glass that’s making them shattered, he’s not yet sure. Hmm. He’s still Ianto. High forehead. Button nose. High cheekbones. All still there. He’s relieved … not sure he could have dealt with changing.

Now. Jack. Put the words together, take out the period… and so many times has he uttered that phrase in so many different voices. 

He’s gotta find Jack. Tell him he’s a….. Tell him about this. Ianto can’t bring himself to think the word yet. Let alone think it… oh dear lord. …NO.. Not going there. He sits heavily on the bed and is assaulted by the smell of pheromones. 51st century pheromones…. Familiar… so familiar. He fights the urge to break again. Must find Jack. He turns it into a mantra.  
Must find Jack. Must find Jack. Must find Jack.

The words nearly lose their meaning. He doesn’t allow that to happen this time… he stops before they do. How to find Jack. How does one find an immortal time traveler? …. Mobile, maybe? Every immortal time travelers gotta have their mobile with them. It’s a long shot... now what did Ianto do with his? Oh right, he was dead. He didn’t have service anymore. It’d have been cancelled… but by whom… and furthermore, who put him into the chamber? Have to think about that later. Not now though. It’s not important now. (It’s probably the most important thing now, but Ianto’s pushing that though aside too)

Back up the stairs to find a phone. You’re in Cardiff… there’s phones around. He checks the glance that would have been at the tourist’s office. Nope. Not gonna do that. Bad plan, Jones. Keep going forward. Find a phone. 

Now he’s running again. 

Yep. Must be a trait of… this. This thing that he now is. He still can’t say the word. If he says it … it’ll come true. Phone. Find a phone. He finds a gas station with a pay phone. Picks up the receiver …. Oh. He needs change. He has no change. Hmm. This is a problem… 

Then he realizes. And the realization hits him like a brick. He wonders if his flat is still in existence. He swallows and then drops the receiver to dangle where it is, not even looking back. He runs to his flat. “His” flat? Shyte. Keys. Well… he has broken into places before… whats the harm. He does live here, after all. 

Swift kick, just above the knob, and he’s in.   
And it’s there. It’s all there. Hell, it’s more there now then it was when he lived here. Ianto peeks into his home. He walks in, tentatively. Instinctively, he knows there’s no one here, but he’s tentative all the same. He walks through rooms remembering thinking looking…. Ianto doesn’t have a photographic memory, but near enough. He hears moans and laughter and even the stray giggle… it’s all memory. Jack. Oh Jack. Where are you Jack? 

Ianto picks up his phone, there’s a dial tone. Why is there a dial tone? Ianto Jones is dead, why does he still have an apartment and a dial tone? 

He punches in a number from memory. It rings.

This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.  
Beep.

The beep fills Ianto’s head. He manages to stammer… Ja… J… Jack. I think I’m me. I mean... I think, I’m... something happened and I died and now I’m alive but now I’m more then alive and I have two heartbeats and jack come home please jack come home please please jack. 

And as if hearing Jack’s voice again opens a breach Ianto talks for a full 30 seconds just repeating and not punctuating.

After hanging up, Ianto realizes that Jack will never believe it’s him. The only time Ianto ever speaks without punctuation is when he’s close to eruption. He calls back again. 

This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.  
Beep.

Oh that infernal beep! Ianto stutters again a bit. Then calms himself and speaks again. “Jack, hi, it’s Ianto. I know I’m supposed to be dead, but you see, that seems to be a lie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lie to you and be dead. Um there’s something else and it seems a little too important to say over a voicemail message. So um. Call me back. I’m home. Because for some reason, even though I’m dead, I still have a home.”

He hangs up. 

Without realizing he’s doing it, he’s redialed the phone.

This is Jack Harkness. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.  
Beep.

“Hey again Jack… I just wanted to hear your voice again. I miss hearing your voice, so even listening to a recording is ok. Um. Sorry… Bye.”

Again, he replaces the receiver on its cradle. 

He makes coffee. He looks at the phone. He realizes that he’s still wearing the suit he died in, and this disturbs him greatly. He showers, changes, and throws that suit into the garbage bin. He looks at the phone. Traitorous hands retrieve the phone and dial again. 

 

This is Jack Harkness…. 

…Ianto waits. 

The message doesn’t finish. And Ianto is confused. 

“Who is this?”  
Ianto’s heart stops. It’s ok, cause now he has a spare. He barks a laugh at that… a spare heart. A spare Hart. Nope. Another line of thought to ignore. Moving right along… the pregnant pause on the phone is about to give birth. 

“Jack?” Ianto says the name that is a name again. “Jack…. Jack… I … Jack… “Ianto realizes that he’s in danger of losing Jack... both the name and the man. “It’s Ianto.”

“Ianto’s dead. And this is a terrible joke. Don’t call again.”

“nojackdonthangupimiantojackpleasedonthangup!” The words all fall as one, shattering on the floor. They fall from his lips into the ear of the man on the other end. There’s desperation. Ianto falls to the floor with his words. “Jack don’t leave me.” He knows that the phone hasn’t been hung up. He also knows that Jack is waiting. He has spoken without punctuation again. He tries again.

“I’m… I’m… I can’t Jack. I can’t say it. I can’t make it real. I have… two.”

“Two what? And who is this. And why are you at Ianto’s flat?” Tires squeal on the phone. And outside. Funny how they sound like the same tires. 

“Jack don’t make me say it.” Oh… those words. Don’t make me say… I love you. Don’t make me say… I need you… So many things could follow that. 

“Tell me.” Boots thudding over the phone. Sound so much like the boots that thud up the stairs outside Ianto’s door. 

The door flies open, and Ianto cringes. At least he showered. And has new clothing on. 

Jack walks in and Ianto drops the phone for real. It thuds on the ground, and he can see Jack wince as it thuds in his ear. He touches the Bluetooth to shut it off, and with a whining noise, it does. 

Jack stops and stares and Ianto sits and stares. Blue eyes meet familiar blue eyes and neither one speaks. Then one of them speaks, and neither knows who it is. 

“How?”

Ianto stands and approaches Jack cautiously, as one might approach a tiger or perhaps a scared child. Or a scared baby tiger. He didn’t care, and threw the metaphor out the window. He approaches Jack. He takes Jack’s hands, holding back a shiver, as electricity flies between them. He places Jack’s hands on his own chest. One on the right and one on the left. Finally, he places his own hands on top of Jacks, and sees the look of excitementhorrorlovehateterror that flies across Jack’s face. 

“You’re a Timelord.”

And then it’s real. And then each sensation is heightened, and the knowledge of ages is in his head. At that moment, the word is spoken, the spell is broken. Ianto Jones, Archivist, teaboy, part time shag, and dead lover becomes Ianto Jones, Timelord.


	2. And Another Thing

Ianto’s head hurts. Which makes sense cause now it’s filled with everything. Not just some things, but everything. It feels like the whole time vortex has been shoved in into his brain. Maybe it has. He is apparently a Timelord and all. Timelord. Lord of Time. It’s a pompous and useless name. Ianto likes it. He likes it a lot. Ianto likes time. He has his stopwatch, and now he can feel it. He feels the tickticktickticktick of the watch through his bloodstream….mental synapses…..it tugs his soul. 

Ianto Jones once was a lot of things. Now he’s even more things, and he can’t even begin to wrap his mind around it. Which is funny, cause his mind feels so much bigger now. It’s filled with so much more. Everything, he reminds himself. It’s filled with everything. 

Jack is shocked. Jack stumbles to a chair after Ianto releases his hands. Ianto stumbles after him and doesn’t make it to a chair, trippingfallinglanding in a tangled mess in front of Jack. Jack. He’s found Jack. He’s found Jack. He’s been looking for Jack. But now he’s a Timelord. He’s 842 (+26) years old and he’s a Lord of Time. Jack says nothing, but pulls Ianto to his knees. The irony is not lost on the newold Timelord. It is lost on Jack though. Everything is currently lost on Jack. Jack is currently lost. 

Ianto looks at Jack and his headache grows anew. Jack is wrong! Jack is wrong! Jack is WRONG! It repeats like a metronome in his head. Almost losing meaning but not quite. The brain of a Timelord means that most things won’t ever lose meaning. But Jack is wrong. He sees it now. He understands. And he hates it. He rebels. Jack is stationary, never changing never moving never dying never going anywhere. But that’s wrong too because Jack is motion. Kinetic energy. Life. Jack is life. And Ianto the man knows this. He has to teach Ianto the Timelord. 

Seconds pass. Nanoseconds, so brief he almost misses them. But just as he misses one, another happens then another then another. And Ianto knows that this is how time goes. He will keep looking for the lost seconds forever. Because Ianto Jones knows all. And now, that isn’t a lie, it’s not on the bottom of the screen. It’s in his brain. It’s HIM. Ianto really does know all. Ianto remembers watching stars be born and planets die. He remembers people and things and things that are people too. He remembers Galifrey. And blinks.

Jack looks at him. Looks away. Looks at him again. Takes his hand and looks at it. Traces the lines and the tickles the tiny hairs. It twitches under his ministrations. Jack lets go of Ianto’s hand and places both of his own onto Ianto’s chest. He has to confirm. Ianto did too. There they are … both of them. One... two… one … two. Beating in perfect rhythm. Jack looks into the eyes of the man he thought he’d lost. (the man he has lost?) He looks into them … and he sees Ianto Jones, but Ianto Jones is so much more now. It’s like … Jack mentally sighs. It’s like looking into the eyes of the Doctor merged with the eyes of Ianto. And that’s going to get confusing. 

“Why didn’t you change?” Jack asks the question that Ianto’s been avoiding thinking about. He doesn’t know. He should have changed. He’s a Timelord, and when Timelords regenerate they change their faces. Come to think of it, there’s a lot of questions Ianto’s not thinking about. In fact, in all if Ianto’s vast brain, he’s not using a single part of it except the part that’s looking at Jack. 

And its still hurting his head. He looks resolutely at Jack. And realizes that Jack is waiting for an answer. “I don t know.” 

Wait. That’s all his Timelord megabrain can come up with? Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of technobabble? Or something? Ianto’s not sure how this works anymore. He’s been ‘not a timelord’ for so long. So many questions. Oh the questions. He wracks his brain to try to remember all of the things he’s supposed to remember, and they’re all in there, but they’re all jumbled up. Like the answer to ‘where’s my TARDIS’ is NOT 42. This is going to take some getting used to and he really really just needs to calm down and stop thinking. Cause he realizes that he’s been doing that again. For almost 45 seconds he’s allowed his mind to wander. And wander it has. Wandering like he’s supposed to. Wandering like a timelord.   
Timelordtimelordtimelord. Ianto repeats it in his head trying to come to terms with the fact. He’s wondering why he’s having such a hard time with it. Wonders what did this to him and why he hid his identity for so long, from himself and everyone else. Was he there at the fall of Galifrey? Too many questions. And now he’s thinking again. Shouldn’t this be easier? Weren’t Timelords minor Gods? 

Jack. Yes. Look at Jack. 

He looks at Jack. OHGODITHURTS.

“Ianto?”

“Jack… it hurts.”

And he takes Jack’s temples in his hands, and he pulls their foreheads together. And he shows Jack. 

He shows Jack what he sees when he looks at the WRONG thing. When he looks at the thing-what-should-not-be. The fixed point in time and space that is Captain Jack Harkness. He shows him the pain that happens. And Jack walks right up to it (in the metaphorical sense, of course) and he glares at it. And he does what he does to everything else in Ianto’s life…. He fights it and then fixes it. He soothes and eases the pain in Ianto’s brain. Because a door once opened may be stepped through in either direction. And when they pull apart, slowly and not completely, and Ianto looks at Jack it’s all better. No pain. No wrongness.

Ianto smiles. And it’s one thing in his head that is better. Jack takes Ianto’s hands again. Looks at him like he’s something amazing-wonderful-never-seen-before. (Ianto realizes that at least he’s beginning to punctuate. It’s a start) “A Timelord. Another Timelord... Can you feel him?” He looks at Ianto hopefully. Ianto-the-man would have been jealous. Ianto-the-Timelord understands though. Cause now he’s been in Jack’s head. A little. And Jack has soothed his tired-scared-very full-slowly healing-beginning to punctuate-brain. 

Hmm. Good question though. He’s not even sure where to begin. He closes his eyes and searches. He thinks ‘Doctor’ and somewhere… somewhere deep inside his soul-brain-heart(s) he feels it. Something responds. A… another. He can feel the Doctor, and at that moment, knows the Doctor can feel him too. Knows he’ll be coming. Dreads it. Hides. Pulls himself into himself into his mind into Jack. Jack holds him tightly and whispers nothings. Sweet? Maybe. 

Ianto mumbles into Jack’s chest (where only one heart beats. But it beats forever), “I found him. I feel him… and he’s coming.”


	3. The First Thing

The First Thing

Ianto looks at Jack, after his revelation. He looks at him and looks at him and never wants to stop looking at him. His Timelord brain is taking in every part of the face of Jack Harkness. Every feature every flaw every dimple and freckle. There is so much more to Jack then Ianto the Archivist ever noticed. There’s a stray freckle just there, right above the left eyebrow, about a centimeter and a half over from the edge of the brow. Ianto pokes it. “You have a freckle.” 

Jack looks less lost now, more concerned.

Ianto smiles at him. He’s beginning to feel a bit better now. A bit more whole. Being near to Jack tends to have that effect on him anyway, and now that his psyche has become whole again, having Jack nearby is speeding up the process nicely. The ticking in his pocket is also helping. Tickticktickticktick …thumpthumpthumpthump … heartbeat and stopwatch. Same rhythm. Steadily going forever. 

“He’ll be around shortly; he may miss us by a day or two… That old TARDIS of his never did fly as true as she could have, had he fixed her up.” Ianto’s sea blue eyes twinkle at this, looking surprised, but sure of himself. He isn’t entirely sure where that realization or memory is coming from, but he knows it to be the truth. Currently, the brain to mouth filter that Ianto Jones, Archivist normally had in place is … missing. 

Jack takes this statement in stride. His dead lover has just come back to life as a Timelord. He can take just about anything in stride right now. “Ianto… I …” Jack is at a loss for words. Jack is never at a loss for words. He can’t look at Ianto, remembering how he led him into death. “Ianto I’m sorry.” He mumbles. Jack also doesn’t mumble, so Ianto knows this is a special case. Ianto knows a lot more about Jack now. He also knows that right now is not the time for words, and with his hands still on the sides of Jack’s head, he brings them together again, lips meeting lips this time. And everything that they’ve wanted-needed to say to each other is said through that kiss. There’s apologies and love and hate. Rage and sadness and loss and finally, just them. It’s a long kiss, and when it ends, neither can breathe, but both know where they stand. 

There’s a lot that can be said without words. Ianto’s always known this. He has always chosen his words wisely… never speaking without purpose- be it snarksarcasmwit (and oh does he have a lot of that now. Timelord brains are not just good for intelligence) or sharing local knowledge. Ianto snorts at this thought, and Jack looks at him funny. This will be happening a lot, Ianto knows. 

And Ianto knows something else now too. There’s a message waiting in is head, the blinkblinkblink of an answering machine comes to mind and Ianto stands without warning, neatly avoiding bumping his forehead on Jacks. He takes Jack’s hand and they’re running, pausing only to lock up the dead Archivist’s apartment. Jack is confused again, but he’s with a Timelord. And he knows that they run… it really does seem to be a trait amongst the race. He idly wonders if Rassilon, the great Godking of the Timelords was a track star.

They run. Ianto seems to know where he’s going. Jack has no idea. Towards the Plass it seems to be… (ask about Torchwood and most people point towards the Bay) And that’s where they’re headed. Jack’s mind screams at him, ‘no no no no no!’ too many bad memories. Names and faces that he thought he’d left behind. The chief of them just happens to be running in front of him, however, and that makes it ok. Jack continues to follow the man (Timelord) in front of him, as Ianto once followed Jack everywhere. He goes directly to the parking garage hidden nearby. Underground, it has not been destroyed as the lower parts of the HUB have not been destroyed. Oh there’s rubble and dirt and Ianto’s mind itches at the sight of it… must clean must clean must clean. The mind of the Archivist always wanting to put everything in order and to make everything right and neat. But he is able to shove that aside, following the blinkblinkblink in his head. 

There. There it is… in the back, waaaay over in the corner, shoved behind some random space ship that Jack parked here years and years ago. She’s there waiting for him. No one has noticed her because she hasn’t wanted anyone too. Until now. 

Ianto and Jack race into the back of the parking garage and Ianto skids to a stop in front of a low covered thing. Here she is. Bonded to him, body and soul. Ianto yanks the cover back; it’s a dirty grimy sheet now, covered in rubble and the dirt of the intervening years. It comes in stark contrast to the gleaming shining silver metal underneath. 

Jack whistles. This is not a thing that he could have been prepared for. He walks around the object, staring and not speaking. Glancing at Ianto, he sees nothing but love and a sort of recognition. Jack knows that when this was put away and stored down here, it looked marginally different. Or completely different… Jack really has no idea. He also begins to wonder how he could have missed something like this. With a shrug he accepts that this is just how these things work. 

Ianto stares at her with the awe of a child on Christmas. It’s a homecoming for him. “Oh darling, you always did have one hell of a sense of style.” He murmurs. At least Jack thinks he does. Everything seems muted in the presence of… her. Yes. Yes, Jack feels it… the life flowing from this. From Ianto’s TARDIS. The 2006 Aston Martin DBS. The Bond car. He looks up and smiles at his partner. (friend? lover? He’s still not sure) “Ianto, she’s beautiful. And I was half expecting some filing cabinet in the Archives.” 

Ianto rolls his eyes. Oh that eye roll. Jack is glad Ianto’s appearance hasn’t changed. He’s not sure he could handle it if it had. But he smiles after. She is beautiful. Jack can feel her preening in his presence. She almost feels more alive than the Doctor’s TARDIS. Jack knows she’s not... she’s just waking up. “When I left her here, she was the 1968 version.” He smiles at the memory. “She always knew what I liked.” 

He runs a hand over her front fender and at the same time, removes a set of keys from his pocket. It’s his usual set of keys; Jack recognizes the key to the flat, the key to his office, the key to Jack’s office, the Archives, the tourist’s office, etc. There are 47 keys on this keyring, and Jack knows for a fact, that one of them has not been used or even noticed in over 26 years.

“Let’s get her outta here.” Ianto picks one key and uses it to unlock the door… and Jack’s not sure what to expect when Ianto slides into her driver’s seat… Certainly not the gorgeous sound of a 6.0 liter V12 engine filling the silence of the parking garage, dropping more debris all over him. Ianto leans over and with the grin of a man who never forgets anything (unless a Chameleon Arch is somehow involved), asks “work to do… coming?”

That is one question that Jack never ever needs to be asked twice. (this time, Ianto is allowed to appreciate the innuendo, as Jack is there. Right there next to him where he belongs. Forever? He can hope. They have that now.)

The car-TARDIS (car-dis? Ianto grins) races out, not really needing him to guide her, but him doing it anyway… the perfect merge of man and sentient machine, following the contours of the rubble up the ramp and Jack would swear that she takes to the air briefly before landing again in the parking lot. He stops the car, maneuvering a perfect power-glide (Jack thinks this is more for effect than anything else…) and the engine idles as Ianto looks at Jack. Ianto raises an eyebrow. “You wanna see the inside?”

Mutely, Jack nods. He’s a bit out of his depth right now and he’s not used to that.

Ianto selects a second key from off of the key ring and motions for Jack to get out of the car. They both do, and Ianto unlocks the door again, this time, when he slips in, there’s a soft light, flowing from inside the sports car… Jack is just about to peer inside when he hears it… That sound that his ears have been trained to listen for. The soft breathing sound of the Doctor’s TARDIS. Jack turns and stares and see’s the large blue police box, thumping clumsily next to the Aston Martin. Jack stares… The box is so… awkward next to the sleek lines of the DBS. Ianto peeks his head out, sees the police box and grins widely, but Jack can see the hint of fear in his eyes. Jack pulls him close, arms around the Timelord’s waist (as though they belong there.) And they wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart that I made .... just some photo-manipulation. 
> 
> http://obsydianshepard.deviantart.com/art/The-Archivist-and-his-TARDIS-190370053
> 
> http://obsydianshepard.deviantart.com/art/Ianto-s-TARDIS-190369869


	4. Everything Has its Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto meets the Doctor. (10)

Jack holds Ianto tightly as breathing stops in all living things temporarily. The TARDIS (….no, can’t think that anymore, Harkness. How about the Police Box or the Doctor’s TARDIS…) settles onto the parking lot, its weezing breath stopping. Ianto’s breathing stops in anticipation of his (first) meeting with the Doctor in longer then he can remember. Or could remember. Until now. Jack’s breathing stops because the last time he saw the Doctor, he was told he was “wrong” and he hasn’t fixed the Doctor’s head, so he’s still WRONG. And this is the (first) meeting between his lover and his once loved. 

Collectively the two men begin breathing again. The police box does not. It does however eject a rather dashing and excitable Timelord. The three immortals stare at each other… the TARDIS’s do the same… 

“Jack! Nice to see you! Shoulda known this would have something to do with you, didn’t you have a secret base around here?” The Doctor sashays as only he could towards the men and the DBS. 

“Hello Doctor,” Jack’s arm tightens around Ianto, who murmurs to him incoherently.

“And Ianto Jones! Last time I saw you there were Daleks taking over the world... Now you’ve remembered who you are! Brilliant! I’ve been waiting for this… I thought it would take longer than this… But you haven’t changed, why didn’t you change? Curious…” 

The monologue would’ve made the Archivist tired just by watching, but the Timelord understands the energy that the Doctor exudes mirrors the exuberance inside. Ianto feels this energy… it comes from having two hearts. But the Archivist is so much more dignified. 

The Doctor pulls out the sonic screwdriver and does the thing that he does and scans Ianto. Jack stares in indignation that turns to shock when the Doctor turns his screwdriver onto him then proclaims, “HaHA!” in that way of his. “It’s you! Jack.. You’re inside him! NO! yes! Really??”

They watch him as he paces like only the Doctor can… muttering to himself. “Jack, did you ever… I mean, your life energy… did you ever… use it on him? Transfer it to him in anyway?” 

Ianto spoke up, “HE is standing right here Doctor. And yes, I nearly died at one point, and Jack brought me back to life by …. Erm.. yes. Transferring life energy.” Ianto shuffled his feet at that point, while Jack grinned lewdly at him. 

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Jack nuzzled his neck suggestively.

“Oi! Jack, still here. And Ianto, what a TARDIS! Mark III?” Scanning with his screwdriver he looked up in surprise… “Mark VI, very nice… very nice indeed. Now about you, Ianto Jones… how much do you remember?”

“Very little right now, Doctor. Well, that’s not entirely correct actually. I remember nearly everything, but it’s all a mess in my head. The only reason I even remembered her is because she was calling to me.” Ianto runs a trembling hand over the smooth lines of his TARDIS. She hums quietly for a minute and there’s an infinitesimal moment of connection that makes the air vibrate around them. 

“Oh and she would be calling wouldn’t she. She’s missed you, Ianto. It’s time for explanations though, shall we go to yours or mine?” The Doctor is playing coy, but Ianto knows that he wants to see the inside of the DBS. The Doctor always had more curiosity then could be contained in the small body of a Timelord. He also knows that the Doctor’s TARDIS will want to ‘meet’ his. This is the first contact that either of them have had with another of their kind in a long time. The cataloguing part of his brain has already begun storing information, picking up on the tiny nuances of energy that each transport is emanating. 

In the end, its Jack who decides. “Ianto’s then. I’ve seen yours Doctor, haven’t seen his yet. Well, TARDIS that is … although… I’m not sure I can tell you what I’m thinking right now.” He arches an eyebrow in just that way of his at Ianto… that just makes the comment that much more. 

“Oi! Enough Jack!” The Doctor is rolling his eyes in time with Ianto’s. Timelord synchronicity. Jack shakes his head, trying to remove the treacherous thoughts. 

The door to the DBS is already open, a soft light emanating from within. She’s inviting them, she hasn’t had visitors in so long… she’s been lonely. Jack gasps as they step through the doors. He’s been in the Doctor’s TARDIS…. So he’s not surprised that this one is so much bigger on the inside, that’s a Timelord trait…. What does surprise him (though it shouldn’t) is what’s inside Ianto’s. The control room that automatically places itself upfront is elegant and graceful, and everything that Ianto is. She looks, for all the world, like the lobby to an old theater (the Electro, maybe?) with high, carved ceilings and sweeping staircases… deep violet curtains and tapestries adorning the walls. Set around the column in the middle are large leather seats, worn with age, but still looking terribly comfortable. The column itself is all deep mahogany wood, with brass fittings, like something out of the Victorian age (Jack would know) buttons and dials everywhere. It reminds Jack of the new steampunk movement…. 

The newcomers to the place look around in awe at the beauty of the room; Ianto ignores them, and runs his hands reverently over the console, murmuring softly in a language that even Jack doesn’t know. Gallifreyian. 

After a few minutes of reacquainting himself with his machine, Ianto looks at the other two men, “I suppose you have things to tell me, Doctor. You can make this jumbled mess in my head go away.” Ianto’s head is still a jigsaw puzzle of words and things. Though, some of them are starting to resolve themselves. The Archives of his brain are reasserting, almost as though there’s a mini-Ianto in there, fixing everything. 

Jack is still wandering around; he can feel the TARDIS assessing him, even as he assesses her… They both belong to and, at the same time, share the Timelord… and it will take some getting used to. Jack has been the companion to a Timelord before and knows how these things work, however. He allows her into his thoughts, and shows her what Ianto means to him, and that he would hurt neither Timelord nor TARDIS. Satisfied, she sings her song lightly in his head, accepting him into her world. Ianto watches and listens, and smiles when her song changes to include Jack. Part of him had worried that she wouldn’t accept him… that she would see the WRONGness inherent in his being. But, she’s a part of Ianto, and if he accepts Jack, then she can too. 

The Doctor, in a rare quiet moment, is observing. He hasn’t seen another of his kind that hasn’t been trying to kill him in far too long, and it’s refreshing. He hears the song of this, a different TARDIS, and he feels her slight reluctant acceptance of him. She knows that he’s the Oncoming Storm. The Destroyer of worlds… As the Archivist’s TARDIS though, she has a greater understanding of the situation. 

After a time hoursminutesseconds pass, (who really knows in a time machine?) they settle into the chairs. Ianto has brought coffee (he is still Ianto, of course) and the time for discussion is at hand, however no one knows how or where to begin. Each is out of his depth. “Ianto, do you remember who you are?” The Doctor asks, bluntly, as only the Doctor can. 

“Not so much, no. I remember a lot of things. I remember… well… it feels like everything, but I can’t make it make sense in my head. Like… there’s too much and my brain is still trying to fit it all together in a way that makes sense. But at least my thoughts have punctuation again. They didn’t for a while.”

The Doctor almost looks as though he understands this last statement… “Ianto, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. One of the last things I did… well… I say did, I mean, helped do… well, I say helped … I mean suggested…” 

“Just tell me, Doctor.”

“Ianto.” The Doctor was being uncharacteristically wordless.

“Doctor…” The note of warning in that deep, soft voice… reminding him that this is one of his own that he’s dealing with. A voice of as much power as his, more even… given his title and craft. 

Jack is… well, an outsider in these proceedings. These are the debates of minor deities; his voice has no say in what happens, though he can offer comfort still. He softly touches Ianto’s arm, takes his hand and brushes a finger across the palm, massaging gently to calm his lover. Ianto looks at him with lovecompassiongratitude and inhales deeply. “Doctor. Please.”

“Ianto you are the Archivist.”

Jack’s eyes narrow. Ianto’s eyes narrow further. 

“You are the Gallifreyian library. The whole of our history is in your head all locked up in that brain of yours, all just waiting and trying to come out. When the Time War really got going I realized that you needed to be kept safe so I and some of the others, some of my best generals” the Doctor’s eyes cloud for a moment “turned you human. And Ianto Jones was born.” 

Jack shakes his head… “All this time you went around talking about how you were the last of your species, waxing poetic about how alone you were in the Universe… and right here all along, was Ianto. You hid him right under my nose. You bastard.”

The Doctor opens his mouth to speak but Jack isn’t finished. “AND you knew when he was fighting amongst the cybermen and Daleks at Canary Wharf and then the Daleks at the Hub…. You knew. And you didn’t say anything. He could have died then, being human, and you would have let it happen.” And Jack stalls, thinking about the possibilities of what might have happened… which flow into the realities of what did. He barely hears the next words out of the Doctor’s mouth as his dries up and he realizes…

“Because of who he is and what he knows, we had to hide him deep. I didn’t know if he would even find himself again after that, Jack. You have to understand, that I fully believed that the Librarian, the Archivist that I knew was dead.” The Doctor looks at them in anguish, “It was hard enough hiding him as we did!”

Jack’s voice breaks as he interrupts the Doctor’s excuses. “And after he ‘died’ from the virus of the 456? You knew there was a chance, and you didn’t even bother to tell me?? You just sent me on my merry way to some other bloke that you thought could warm my bed, when my …. When Ianto had a chance at survival?” 

Ianto looks at him curiously at that slip… but that can wait till later. “To be fair, Jack… I was dead. You were right about that, I was human enough to die. However, I think it’s because of you that I’m still here.” He squeezes the hand that’s still encased in his in reassurance. 

The Doctor does not miss the tiny nuances of their relationship. He realizes that he has misjudged these two. Yin and Yang. He bounces up (no one can keep him still for long. He’s an anomaly amongst his race) he paces back and forth across the plush violet carpeting of the TARDIS. “But now, Ianto Jones? What now?” 

And they realize, with a start, that the Doctor is not asking a rhetorical question. The Doctor, though older than Ianto, is asking his elder. He is looking for guidance.


	5. These Things Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OHMYGOD you guys I'm so so sorry. Its been like 475 years since I've updated. Life got a little nuts.  
> For anyone who has given me kudos and comments, i love you and I thank you. 
> 
> Without further ado, another chapter.

These Things Happen.

“What do we do now then?” 

The words echo in his mind. They rattle around in there along with everything else. The knowledge of ages… The history of an entire race, his race. GallifreyTimelordGallifreyTimelord. The words thudding in his head in time with the double heartbeat thudding in his chest. They repeat for a few minutes as Ianto adjusts to the fact that they were no more. The Doctor has retired to his TARDIS, Ianto needs time to think, to recover both his wits and his memories. It has been a long day. The TARDISs stand together in the burnt shell of the Hub. Ironic, if Ianto chooses to think about it. And he may choose to think about it, were he not thinking about 100 thousand other things. Nope… he adds it to the list. 100 thousand and one things. 

“Ianto?” Jack wanders in to his bedroom. Ianto knows that the TARDIS led him there, he’d never have found it otherwise. But Ianto’s TARDIS is nothing if not empathic, and she knows what he needs. And right now, he needs Jack. Jack grounds him, makes the punctuation return to his thoughts. It was gone for a while there. 

For a few minutes, they don’t talk. They look. Ianto at Jack, Jack at everything except Ianto. The Timelord is not insulted, but patient. Ianto’s always been patient. 

What Jack looks at is everything around him. He’s avoiding everything at the moment. So he takes that moment to consider the room that he’s standing it. That its Ianto’s bedroom, he has no doubt, it fits him better than the suit that he’s wearing. (And how grateful is Jack that the suit is still present and accounted for.) The walls are a deep mahogany, so dark it’s nearly black, with darker swirls in elegant patterns that softly shift, and appear to be part of the wall itself. There are deep violet tapestries that remind Jack of Irish castles and nobility. And Ianto does seem nobility in this place. The furniture is built of the same “wood” as the walls; a casual dresser and several large book cases, all laden with large tomes. (Jack notes that there is also one smaller shelf that has numerous more modern looking books. He picks out Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, Lord of the Rings, someone named RA Salvatore, the full collections of both Oscar Wilde and CS Lewis to name just a few.)

Ianto watches, amused as Jack continues his survey of the bedroom. He knows that Jack will eventually turn his attention to Ianto, but right now, he needs time to collect his thoughts. 

Jack’s wandering eyes turn towards the chief object of his interest most days, Ianto’s bed. It is larger than the one at his employee’s flat…. And round. He never really considered a round bed, but there it was. The coverings are a black that somehow… reminds him of black coffee (that could be the rolling satin of the sheets) with a soft, deep violet curtain that looks as though it goes all the way round, enclosing the slumbering Timelord in a cave of comfort. The thing in the room that Jack is most impressed by, however, is the ceiling. Swirling nebulae and ever changing star patterns light up the “sky.” And off in the corner, just over there… He sees it. He cranes his neck and looks as close as he can, he’s never seen this planet before in all of his wanderings… and now, he never will. Gallifrey. The Shining World of the Seven Systems… 

“I can take you there, if you’d like.” Ianto intones softly… 

At his words, Jack turns slowly and ceases his observation of the room, and turns that discerning eye on Ianto. “I thought I’d lost you.” Jack’s voice breaks with the weight of everything that has happened to him in the past 12 hours.

Ianto crosses the room in measured steps. One. Two. Like his heartbeat. He takes Jack’s hands and he looks into Jack’s eyes. “Jack. I’m here.”

Jack looks scared. And why wouldn’t he? He’s had seen so much, and yet… he just witnessed the impossible… Ianto pulls him in close. “I’m not leaving, Jack.” Ianto deliberately repeats Jack’s name, trying to ground him. 

Ianto has blocked all thoughts from his head. If he tries to think, his mind gets bogged down with Tardis’s and Rassilon and the council of the Timelords, and every planet and war and species that has ever been fought or catalogued or annihilated. He is going to have to take some time to re-file his brain, as it must have been before he was forced into the Chameleon Arch. That was a thing that bared thinking about as well; the Doctor would have to be confronted for the details. Later. Right now, Jack is priority. The Timelord brain protests, but the Torchwood Archivist... the man who loves Jack Harkness wins out. Every time. Ianto had always been strong enough to fight his own mind. 

“Are you still Ianto?” Jack’s shaking voice breaks through his musings. Ianto realizes that minutes have passed while he’s been musing and that Jack has been waiting for an answer. 

Ianto focuses on Jack. He’s not really sure how to answer that question… is he still? He can feel the man in his arms trembling. Jack knows what the Chameleon Arch gives, and in turn... what it takes away. He’s drifting again. Ianto realizes that he’s going to need to reign in his brain for this conversation. “I am still Ianto. But I’m also the Archivist now. I need to realign my brain, Jack.” Ianto’s voice is less sure than he means for it to sound. “I still remember everything that happened while I was human, and I don’t think it’s supposed to work that way. Everything that I … was … as Ianto is supposed to be gone. I think you’ve anchored me as Ianto.”

As if to prove this, Ianto-the-man’s wry humor shows through, even tinged with apprehension as it is, “So, it looks like you’re stuck with me, Harkness, since it’s all your fault.” His eyebrow rises. The right one. Always the right one, Jack notices absently. 

Jack briefly wonders what it is about Timelords that captures his attention… Regardless, Ianto’s response stops his trembling a bit as it cements two things in his mind. The first being that Ianto is still Ianto…he’s just a bit (quite a bit) more now. The second takes a few extra minutes, as Jack realizes that this is his chance… Ianto just handed himself over on a silver platter. Jack has just found himself in possession of his very own Timelord. There is a predatory gleam in his eye, there for only a moment before he pulls Ianto in for a kiss that blows all of their previous (all 427, Ianto notes) out of the water. There is promise and love and hope and …. need in that kiss. In all of his 868 years the Archivist has never felt this sort of thing before. Unfortunately however, though both are immortal, they still need to breathe. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Continuing its exercise, the eyebrow is back up and a smirk is on the beautiful face. Ianto knows that this will take work. Both are still broken men. Both are still vulnerable and shaken by the events of this day and all of the days prior. The 456. Torchwood. The Doctor. So many things that have tried to separate them. However, both are also determined and stubborn. Ianto pulls their foreheads together, placing his slightly shaking fingers to Jack’s temples. He breathes deep and closes his eyes, after taking a long draught of Jack’s stormy irises. 

Their thoughts flow back and forth like the waves on the blustery sea. 

…I thought I’d lost you…  
…I was dead…  
…eternity alone…  
…You weren’t here…  
…I’m sorry…  
…no one else, never anyone else…  
…I never forgot you…  
…could never…  
…would never…  
…still love you…  
…need you…  
….forever.

Their thoughts meld, neither man knowing where he begins or ends or who’s thinking which thoughts. In the end, it doesn’t matter really. 

The breeze blows around them, warm and full of life. It rustles silver leaves on tall, ancient trees. It snakes through orange grasses, causing them to dance and sway on the hillsides of Solace and Solitude. Jack finally sees the one planet he never ever thought that he would. He stands on her rich soils, and breathes her sweet scent as the unfamiliar breeze sighs through his hair, making it sway in time with the grass. The man once called Ianto Jones has returned to his home, albeit only in his mind. He leads them towards the Citadel (capitalized always) as it looms over the land. 

Jack is struggling to keep in mind that this is but a memory, one look at the silent tears streaking his (HIS!) lover’s (partner’s?) face cements that. Ianto has come home, but it is a bittersweet reunion. This place now exists only in legends and myths (and the minds and hearts of two of the most powerful beings in existence).  
“It hurts, Jack. Coming here… it hurts my head and my heart(s).” Jack feels the implied ‘s’ on the word, but he knows that Ianto is still struggling. “I thought it might help me understand why he did it. But all I see is home. I know he must have had his reasons. The Doctor is not the type to commit mass genocide on his …on our own people without reason…“ His voice hitches, and Jack notices as Ianto checks his words. The Archivist is speaking slowly, more to himself than to Jack. 

“What do we do now, indeed.” Ianto shakes his head with a shaky chuckle. 

“Right now? I think we forget lost planets and lost memories. Please, Ianto. I want to … remember you. Only you.”

Ianto blinks grey blue eyes (eyes that have seen far more than Jack can imagine), and just like that they are back in the Tardis. Ianto releases Jack’s temples and takes his hands. He pulls him silently and slowly over to the large bed, and Jack has a brief mental image of a Jacuzzi full of strong black coffee. Words are unnecessary as they slowly reestablish their physical connection; and as their crescendo is reached, Jack fleetingly notices a supernova in the ceiling-sky above the bed, mirroring the climax of the (his)Timelord. 

In each other’s arms again, finally, the eternal lovers find temporary peace as they slide into blissful sleep. The difficulties of demigods can wait until morning. For now, they shed their mantels of “immortal Time Agent” and “The Timelord Archivist”. Now, they are merely Jack and Ianto, curled up together, as they always used to. As they (hopefully) always will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again guys... I just need to say that this whole story was written many many years ago, before the War Doctor, before Matt Smith and Peter Capaldi... at the height of Dave Tennant's reign as Doctor. So. Obviously none of that has happened in this story. There is no magic button to save Galifrey, etc.   
> Also we pay no attention to the 4th season of Torchwood. It was garbage and doesn't exist in my world. 
> 
> Thanks again for anyone who is still with me and anyone new who shows up. All my love to you. I do have one more chapter to post. I'll do it within the next week.


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